Isle Esme
by BAFan
Summary: Bella & Edward leave for their honeymoon. This continues where my reworked chapter "Gesture" left off, and is split into two parts. There is less original text now, and more of my own writing.
1. Chapter 1

**ISLE ESME**

**Chapter One - The First Night**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing Twilight; it all belongs to the talented Stephenie Meyer.**

**A/N: We've finally reached the honeymoon. These chapters have less original text and more of my own words.  
**

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"Houston?" I asked, raising my eyebrows when we reached the gate in Seattle. Our honeymoon was in hot, sunny Texas? I didn't think so!

"Just a stop along the way," Edward assured me with a smile.

It felt as if I'd barely fallen asleep when he woke me. I was groggy when he pulled me through the terminals, struggling to remember how to open my eyes after every blink. It took me a few minutes to catch up with what was going on when we stopped at the international counter to check in for our next flight.

"Rio de Janeiro?" I asked, with a lot more surprise.

"Another stop," he told me, grinning at my little huff of frustration. "Be patient, love."

The luxurious first-class seats were comfortably wide, something I appreciated even more after the seat belt sign went off, when Edward pulled me onto his lap. His arms cradled around me and his cool lips placed discreet kisses on my hair.

Every touch sent a thrill along my nerves, until finally I used the cover of the blanket draped over us to undo the lower buttons of his shirt. I only wanted to feel his skin under my hand, but once I touched that marble perfection, I couldn't resist the allure. Almost of their own accord, my fingers began caressing the hard planes of his flawless torso, slipping around his waist to stroke his back. My breath came faster and I leaned forward to kiss his neck.

He inhaled on a low hiss, and I felt a tremor run through him. "Bella," he whispered, "this is a very long flight, and if you keep doing that it's going to seem endless. Also, the flight attendant is coming to take our meal order."

Sighing, I withdrew my hand after one last caress, then rested my head against his shoulder for a moment before reluctantly sliding back into my own seat.

It was probably just as well we were being interrupted, I told myself, while Edward switched on the overhead light, then took out the menu and opened it for me to read. No reason to drive myself – or Edward - crazy with longings that couldn't be satisfied until we were on the ground again. However, I watched with regret as he re-buttoned his shirt with one vampire-quick motion.

Our flight attendant, a slender young man with café-au-lait skin and dark hair, had a knowing smile tugging at his lips as he took our order. That, and the veiled look of amusement in his eyes, made me uneasy. After I ordered, Edward requested a shrimp appetizer and a glass of white wine – keeping up the human charade, I supposed.

"Why was he smiling like that?" I whispered softly after the attendant moved to the seats behind us.

"He's guessed that we're newlyweds," Edward whispered back, then chuckled. When I raised an enquiring eyebrow, he added, "The attendants are taking bets on whether we'll attempt to join the Mile High Club later on."

"No, thank you," I muttered, feeling the usual blush cover my cheeks. "I don't know how anyone manages in those tiny bathrooms."

Edward chuckled again. "I bet we could find a way."

I saw the gleam in his eyes, and for just a second I was tempted. Then I shook my head, but I smiled. "Maybe on the flight back home."

He lifted my hand to his lips, kissed my wrist, then looked at me through impossibly thick lashes. "I'll remind you."

My lips parted as I got lost in the golden depths of his eyes and the sweet, dizzying scent of his breath. Then he whispered, "Breathe, Bella," and moved away, just far enough that I could regain my senses.

"Not fair," I whispered, blinking. I took a deep breath.

Edward looked apologetic. "I'm sorry. That wasn't nice of me."

"Actually, it was very nice," I corrected him, still breathless. "It just wasn't fair."

He smiled. "I won't do it again." Leaning forward, he kissed me briefly, and added, "Until we're alone."

Which of course took my breath away again. Once I regained it I leaned back in my seat, determined to act as normal as possible. Then, as I looked around the cabin, I realized we had attracted a bit of attention. Several people were smiling at us, although a young woman across the aisle was shaking her head in disapproval, her lips pursed. Her seatmate, on the other hand, was grinning. As I glanced at him, he gave me a wink, reminding me of Emmett. Flushing again, I looked away.

Edward's eyes flickered and the corner of his mouth turned up.

"More bets?" I guessed, with a sigh.

"Just speculation, but, yes – several others are wondering about the same thing."

Groaning, I closed my eyes, only to have to open them a minute later, when the attendant came with our drinks and Edward's shrimp appetizer.

After sleeping the entire flight to Houston I hadn't expected to feel sleepy again, but to my surprise I found myself yawning while eating the delicious chocolate mousse that followed the equally delicious meal of sole amandine and surprisingly fresh vegetables.

Maybe it was the wine, I mused as another yawn overtook me. I wasn't used to drinking wine – or anything alcoholic. After pretending to take a few sips from it, Edward had given me his glass of white wine, as well as the shrimp. Switching off the overhead lights, Edward cocooned me in the blanket and held me in his arms again. He began humming my lullaby, very softly, and my eyes closed.

I slept myself out and awoke unusually alert as the plane began its descent into the airport, with the light of the setting sun slanting through the airport's windows.

Instead of connecting with another flight, as I'd expected, we left the airport and took a taxi through the dark, teeming streets of Rio. Unable to understand a word of Edward's fluent Portuguese, I guessed we were off to a hotel before the next leg of our journey. A thrill of anticipation ran through me at the thought. The taxi continued through the swarming crowds until they thinned somewhat, and we appeared to be nearing the extreme western edge of the city, heading to the ocean.

We stopped at the docks.

Edward led the way down the long line of white yachts moored in the night-blackened water. The boat he stopped at was smaller than the others, sleeker, obviously built for speed instead of space. It was still luxurious, though, and more graceful than the rest. He leaped in lightly, despite the heavy bags he carried. He dropped those on the deck and turned to help me carefully over the edge.

Then he took me in his arms and kissed me. For a moment his lips totally distracted me, and I melted against him. Then a wave slapped the side of the boat, rocking it. His arms steadied me as I staggered, clutching at him to keep my footing, and he smiled apologetically down at me.

"Sorry, love. I couldn't help myself. Here, sit down while I get everything ready."

I gratefully accepted his assistance over to one of the two comfortable-looking seats at the front of the boat – the one without a wheel, of course – and sat down with a sigh of relief. Suddenly he looked at me with concern. "Bella, I should have asked before – do you get seasick?"

I smiled. "No, somehow I lucked out on that one. I've never had a problem with it."

"That's a relief." He kissed me again, and then grinned at me. "I'd hate for you to be all doped up tonight."

I returned his grin, then watched in silence while he prepared the boat for departure, surprised at how skilled and comfortable he seemed, because he'd never before mentioned an interest in boating. But then, of course, he was good at just about everything.

As we headed due east into the open ocean, I reviewed basic geography in my head. As far as I could remember, there wasn't much east of Brazil – until you got to Africa.

But Edward sped forward while the numerous lights of Rio faded and ultimately disappeared behind us. On his face was a familiar exhilarated smile, the one produced by any form of speed. The boat plunged through the waves, and I crouched down to avoid getting showered by sea spray.

Finally the curiosity I'd suppressed for so long got the best of me. "Are we going much farther?" I asked.

It wasn't like him to forget that I was human, but I wondered if he planned for us to live on this small craft for any length of time.

"About another half hour." He glanced at my hands, clenched on the seat, and chuckled. Twenty minutes later he called my name over the roar of the engine. "Bella, look there." He pointed straight ahead.

I saw only blackness at first, and the moon's white trail across the water. But I searched the space where he pointed until my weak human eyes found a low black shape breaking into the sheen of moonlight on the waves.

I kept squinting into the darkness, and as we grew nearer, the silhouette became more detailed. The shape grew into a squat, irregular triangle, with one side trailing longer than the other before sinking into the waves. We drew closer, and I could see that the outline was feathery, swaying to a light breeze.

And then my eyes refocused and the pieces all made sense: a small island rose out of the water ahead of us, waving with palm fronds, a beach glowing pale in the light of the moon.

"Where are we?" I murmured in wonder while he shifted course, heading around to the north end of the island.

He heard me despite the noise of the engine, and smiled a wide smile that gleamed in the moonlight. "This is Isle Esme."

The boat slowed dramatically, drawing with precision into position against a short dock, its wooden planks bleached into whiteness by the moon. The engine cut off, and the silence that followed was profound. There was no sound but the waves, slapping lightly against the boat, and the rustle of the breeze in the palms. The air was warm, moist, and fragrant – like the steam left behind after a hot shower.

"Isle _Esme?"_ My voice was low, but it still sounded too loud as it broke into the quiet night.

"A gift from Carlisle – Esme offered to let us borrow it."

"A gift?" I repeated, stunned. "Who gives an island as a gift?"

Edward laughed. "Carlisle."

I shook my head. I hadn't realized Edward's extreme generosity was a learned behavior.

He placed the suitcases on the dock and then turned back, smiling his perfect smile as he reached for me. Instead of taking my hand, he pulled me right into his arms.

"Aren't you supposed to wait for the threshold?" I asked, breathless, as he sprang lightly out of the boat.

He grinned. "I'm nothing if not thorough." Gripping the handles of both huge steamer trunks in one hand and cradling me in the other arm, he carried me up the dock and onto a pale sand pathway through the dark vegetation.

For a short while it was pitch black in the jungle-like growth, and then I could see a warm light ahead. It was at the point when I realized the light was a house – the two bright, perfect squares were windows framing a front door – that my heart thudded audibly against my ribs, and my breath seemed to get stuck in my throat. I felt Edward's eyes on my face, but was feeling strangely shy about meeting his gaze, so I stared straight ahead, saying nothing.

He set the suitcases on the deep porch to open the door, which was unlocked. He looked down at me, waiting until I met his eyes. "Stage fright?" he inquired, a touch of uncertainty in his voice.

I smiled. "Not even a little."

He chuckled, then brought me up to meet his kiss. Still kissing me, he stepped across the threshold, and then carried me through the house, flipping on lights as he went. My vague impression of the house was that it was quite large for a tiny island, and oddly familiar. The pale-on-pale color scheme preferred by the Cullens – or at least by Esme – was repeated here; it felt like home. Then Edward stopped and turned on the last light.

The room was big and white, and the far wall was mostly glass – standard décor for my vampires. Outside, the moon was bright on white sand and, just a few yards away, the glistening waves. But I barely noticed that part. I was gawking at the absolutely _huge_ white bed in the center of the room, hung with billowy clouds of mosquito netting.

Edward set me on my feet. "I'll go get the luggage." He took my face in his hands and kissed me until my head swam, then vanished out the door.

This room was too warm, stuffier than the tropical night outside. A bead of sweat dewed up on the nape of my neck. I walked slowly forward until I could reach out and touch the foamy netting. I'd heard of mosquito netting, but I'd never actually seen it until now.

I didn't hear Edward return. Suddenly, his wintry finger caressed the back of my neck, wiping away the drop of perspiration. "It's a little hot here," he said apologetically. "I thought that might be better . . . maybe the cold wouldn't bother you as much."

His cold body, he meant. "Thorough," I murmured approvingly, remembering all the times a romantic mood had been ruined because my teeth started chattering and he'd insisted we stop.

He chuckled. "I tried to think of everything, though I'm sure we'll find out otherwise." He moved my hair aside and touched the nape of my neck with his arctic lips. The slow, lingering kiss sent chills up and down my spine, and I shivered – but not from the cold.

"I was wondering if maybe you'd like to take a midnight swim with me?" he whispered, his hands stroking down my arms. "The water will be very warm and the sand is soft. This is the kind of beach you like."

"That sounds heavenly," I sighed, "but first I need a few human minutes."

His lips brushed against my neck, just below my ear. He chuckled once and his cool breath tickled my overheated skin. "Don't take too long, Mrs. Cullen."

The sound of my new name made me jump a little. Mrs. Cullen. It sounded strange.

His lips trailed down my neck to the tip of my shoulder. "I'll wait for you in the water."

He walked past me to the French doors that opened right onto the beach sand. On the way, he shrugged out of his shirt, dropping it on the floor, and then slipped through the door into the moonlit night. The sultry, salty air wafted into the room behind him.

Did my skin burst into flames? I had to look down to check. Nope. Nothing was burning, at least not visibly. Swallowing, I reminded myself to breathe, and then I went over to the giant suitcase that Edward had opened on top of a low white dresser.

It must be mine, because my familiar bag of toiletries was right on top, but I didn't recognize even one article of clothing. As I pawed through the neatly folded piles, looking for my robe, it came to my attention that there was an awful lot of sheer lace and skimpy satin in my hands. Lingerie. Very lingerie-ish lingerie, with French tags.

Alice.

Disconcerted – and more than a little fascinated by the variety of items – after a moment I gave up and went into the bathroom, where I peeked out through the long windows opening onto the same beach as the French doors. I couldn't see him; maybe he was there in the water, not bothering to come up for air he didn't need. In the sky above, the moon was lopsided, not quite full, and the sand shone as white as snow under its light.

A small movement caught my eye – draped over a bend in one of the palm trees that fringed the beach, the rest of his clothes were swaying in the light breeze.

A rush of heat flashed across my skin again. I took a couple of deep breaths and walked over to the mirrors above the long stretch of countertop. I looked exactly as if I'd been sleeping on a plane all day.

Great.

I found my brush and yanked it through the snarls at the back of my neck until they were smoothed out and the bristles were full of hair. Then I brushed my teeth, something I'd been longing to do ever since leaving the plane, took a quick shower, and finally felt human again.

I left my hair clipped up on top of my head – the thought of getting it soaked with sea water made me shudder - then hesitated. What should I wear? Not clothes, obviously, and a swimsuit seemed silly, but I wasn't ready to consider the things Alice had packed for me.

Not yet.

Even more quickly I dismissed the notion of going out just as I was. Definitely not ready for that! Then I hesitated. Was I being silly? It wasn't as if Edward hadn't seen my body before. Okay, it was only a few times, but why did I feel so much more . . . _naked_ . . . _exposed,_ really . . . standing upright than I had when we were lying together in the meadow, or in a bed?

It didn't make sense, but that was the way I felt. So I took a deep breath, grabbed the huge white towel I'd just used, wrapped it under my arms, and hurried out of the bathroom, past the huge white bed and the suitcase full of French lace, and out the open glass door onto the powder-fine sand.

Everything was black-and-white, leached colorless by the moon. I walked slowly across the warm powder, pausing beside the curved tree where he'd left his clothes. I looked across the low ripples, black in the darkness, searching for him.

He wasn't hard to find. He stood, his back to me, waist-deep in the midnight water, staring up at the oval moon. Its pallid light turned his skin a perfect white, like the sand, like the moon itself, and made his wet hair as black as the ocean. He was motionless, his hands resting palms down against the water; the low waves broke around him as if he were a stone. I stared at the smooth lines of his back, his shoulders, his arms, his neck, the flawless shape of him. . . .

The fire was no longer a flash burn across my skin – it was slow and deep now; it smoldered away the last lingering traces of shyness or uncertainty. Without hesitation I slipped the towel off, leaving it on the tree with his clothes, and walked out into the white light; it made me as pale as the snowy sand, too.

I couldn't hear the sound of my footsteps as I walked to the water's edge, but Edward could. He turned and watched as I let the gentle swells break over my toes – and found that he'd been right about the temperature; it was like bath water.

Feeling his gaze on me as if it were a physical touch, I stepped in, walking cautiously across the invisible ocean floor, but my care was unnecessary; the sand continued perfectly smooth, sloping gently toward Edward. I waded through the weightless current until I stood in front of him, then I placed my hand lightly over his cool hand lying on the water.

"Beautiful," I said, looking up at the moon.

"It's all right," he said, but he didn't seem impressed. His eyes looked silver in his ice-colored face, and he hadn't taken them off me since I entered the water. He twisted his hand so that he could twine our fingers beneath the surface of the water. It was warm enough that his cool skin didn't raise goose bumps on mine.

"But I wouldn't use the word _beautiful,"_ he continued. "Not with you standing here in comparison."

I half-smiled, then raised my free hand and placed it over his heart. White on white; we matched, for once. He shuddered at my warm touch, and his breath came rougher now.

"We're together now, where we belong," I murmured, abruptly overwhelmed by the truth of my own words. This moment was so perfect, so right; there was no way to doubt it.

His arms wrapped around me, holding me against him, summer and winter. It felt as though every nerve-ending in my body had suddenly come alive. "I love you," he whispered, bending down.

"Forever," I agreed in the moment before he claimed my mouth. The kiss was long and slow and intense, and when I had to break away to catch my breath, Edward gently pulled us into deeper water. Time seemed to stop as we floated there under the bright moon, exchanging soft, unhurried kisses, the dark water lapping quietly around us, each gentle swell rocking our bodies together in a very interesting manner.

Our caresses began softly, sweetly – the light touch of a hand tracing the curve of a waist and hip, brushing against a breast, gently stroking sensitive flesh under the warm water. Then, as urgency grew, we returned to shallower water, where Edward demonstrated the advantage of not needing to breathe by ducking beneath the warm waves and remaining there for long minutes while his cool tongue did things to me I'd only read – and guiltily dreamed – about.

His arms caught me just as my knees buckled. He carried me back across the white sand, kissing me all the while, and set me on my feet in the bathroom. Still breathing raggedly, I leaned against him, trying to find some strength in my legs, while he turned on the shower. When the temperature was to his liking, he lifted me over the lip of the enclosure, careful to keep my hair out of the spray; and we let the warm water stream over our bodies, rinsing away every last trace of salt water and clinging sand.

"You seemed to like that," he murmured in my ear. I knew he wasn't referring to the shower, and I blushed furiously. His voice sounded a bit smug, so I decided on a little revenge.

I kissed his chest – so beautiful it made my throat ache – and found a nipple, running my tongue across the tiny granite nub. He inhaled sharply, and then let the breath out with a soft sound as I slid my hands down his body and stroked him.

His already firm flesh expanded rapidly with my caresses, and when I knelt in front of him and hesitantly took him in my mouth, he gasped out loud, his fingers tightening in my hair. Of course, I had only the vaguest idea of what I should do, and so I felt incredibly awkward and unsure. All too soon, Edward gently pulled my head away, much to my consternation.

"Didn't I do it right?" I whispered as he pulled me to my feet.

His laugh was jagged as he held me against him and kissed me, his breathing rough. I felt tremors running through his body. "Sweetheart," he whispered unevenly, "if it was any better, I'd be in danger of destroying this shower."

I remembered the wrought-iron frame of his bed at home, mangled during our "practice" sessions, and the deep furrows his hands had gouged in the ground of the meadow where we'd first made love; and I forced myself to step away from his arms and out of the shower.

The drying-off process was probably the fastest on record; I don't think thirty seconds elapsed before the towels lay in a heap on the floor and I was in his arms again and being carried into the next room.

"I _can_ walk, you know," I protested, half-laughing.

"Not tonight," he told me with a smile, and smoothly slid us both into the middle of the huge bed. He deftly removed the clip from my hair, then ran his fingers through the heavy mass as it tumbled over my shoulders. His cool lips were urgent on mine, as imperative as the hands now moving over my body, stroking and caressing . . . sending my heartbeat into overtime as I tried to keep up with the overload of sensations.

Edward had always been fascinated by the reaction of my skin to his touch, and would often stroke my cheek or neck for the sheer delight of seeing the blood rush close to the surface. Now, however, more than my face was involved; my entire body was flushed pink and I was making incoherent little sounds by the time he stopped his explorations. Finally, he moved above me and, with excruciating care, slid into me and made us one.

Then he shuddered and stopped moving, holding very still. "Bella," he gasped/groaned, "I'm sorry. I don't - think – I – can – wait." Tiny shivers ran through his tense body.

"I don't want you to," I gasped in turn, almost out of my mind from the feel of his cold length inside me. I wrapped my legs around him as tightly as I could, trying with all my strength to bring him even closer- which didn't seem possible.

He shuddered again, violently, and his arms slid beneath me, crushing me against him as he thrust into me, not nearly as carefully this time. That final pressure shot me over the edge as well. I was only dimly aware, through the convulsions shaking me, of his choked cry somewhere around my ear. Some unknown time later – seconds? – minutes? - I gradually became conscious of his arms holding me close, though not as tightly as before, and of the pressure of his lips on my hair.

"I love you," I managed to whisper through the lassitude turning my muscles to jelly.

"You are my only love, Bella," I heard in return. "For now and for always."

That sounded exactly right, but sleep claimed me before I could tell him.

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END OF PART ONE


	2. The Next Morning

**ISLE ESME **

**Chapter Two - The Next Morning**

**DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Stephenie Meyer's. **

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The sun, hot on the bare skin of my back, woke me in the morning – or maybe it was afternoon; I really wasn't sure. Everything other than the time was clear, though. I knew exactly where I was – in the bright room with the big white bed, brilliant sunlight streaming through the open doors. The clouds of netting would soften the glare.

I didn't open my eyes. I was too happy to change anything, no matter how small. The only sounds were the waves outside, our breathing, my heartbeat. . . .

I was comfortable, even with the sun baking my skin. Lying across his wintry chest – back to its normal temperature now – with his arms wound around me, was the perfect antidote to the heat. His fingers softly trailed down the contours of my spine, and I knew that he knew I was awake.

"Good morning," I murmured. I kept my eyes shut and tightened my arms around his neck, holding myself closer to him, and felt his lips on my hair. I would have been happy to lie here forever, to never disturb this perfect moment, but my body had other ideas. I laughed at my impatient stomach. It seemed sort of prosaic to be hungry after all that had happened last night – like being brought back down to earth from some great height.

"What's funny?" he murmured, still tracing light patterns on my back. The sound of his voice, serious and husky, brought with it a deluge of memories from the night, and I felt a blush color my face and neck.

To answer his question, my stomach growled. I laughed again. "I just can't escape being human for very long."

Instead of laughing with me, as I expected, he rolled over to face me and combed his cool fingers through the hair at my temple. "Bella, how badly are you hurt?" His voice was low and strained.

"What?" My eyes popped open. His expression, taut and worried, sent a physical jolt through me. "Hurt? What do you mean?"

His eyes tightened even more. "Tell me the truth – don't downplay it. Please, I need to know."

Automatically, I made a quick assessment, stretching my body, tensing and flexing my muscles. There was stiffness, and a lot of soreness, too, it was true, but mostly there was the odd sensation that my bones had all become unhinged at the joints. It was not an unpleasant feeling.

"Edward, I don't understand." I touched his face. "I'm fine. Why do you think I'm not?"

"Look at yourself, Bella."

Confused, I followed his instructions unthinkingly, and then gasped. What had happened to me? I couldn't make sense of the fluffy white snow that clung to my skin. I shook my head and a cascade of white drifted out of my hair.

I pinched one soft, white bit between my fingers. It was a piece of down. "Why am I covered in feathers?" I asked, bewildered.

His mouth tightened. "I bit through a pillow – or two. It's not important and that's not what I'm talking about."

I stared at him a moment in confusion, then made the connection between the ruined frame of his bed back home and the pillows bitten here. I shook more feathers from my hair and - I couldn't help it – the thought of what I must look like made me giggle.

Edward looked at me as if he doubted my sanity, then sighed impatiently. "Look, Bella." He took my hand – very gingerly – and stretched my arm out. "Look at this."

This time, I saw what he meant. Under the dusting of feathers, huge purplish bruises were beginning to blossom across the pale skin of my arm. I followed the trail they made up to my shoulder, and then down across my ribs. I poked at one discoloration on my left forearm, watching it fade where I touched and then reappear. It throbbed a little.

'Oh, no," I sighed. So lightly that I barely felt the touch, Edward placed his hand against the bruises on my arm, one at a time, matching his long fingers to the patterns.

"I'm . . . so sorry, Bella," he whispered tightly, while I frowned at the bruises, trying to remember any moment of pain last night. "I should have kept better control over myself. Are you in much pain? The first aid kit is well-stocked, if you need to take something."

"Edward, I'm fine," I assured him. "A little stiff and, well, sore, but that's all. You know how easily – "

"I know you bruise easily," he interrupted, "That's why I'm not absolutely panicking right now. But you must have been in pain, last night; why didn't you tell me?"

"Because there was nothing to tell," I told him earnestly. "Edward, there was no pain, honestly. I can't remember any time when you . . . held me too tightly, or, or your hands were too rough. I only remember wanting you to hold me tighter, and loving it when you did."

He searched my eyes for a long moment. His brow was still furrowed. "Bella, is that really the truth? You're not just saying that to . . . ease my guilt?"

I drew back a little. "You think I'm lying to you?"

He evaded the question. "You have a history of trying to let me off the hook when I make mistakes."

I sighed. "And you have a history of taking the blame for my mistakes - but there were no mistakes last night. Edward, last night was wonderful, and perfect, and I wouldn't change one moment of it for all the money in the world."

His expression didn't ease even when I softly kissed him. A little hurt, I pulled back. "I mean, I don't know how it was for you, but it was like that for me."

Instantly his face became contrite. He leaned forward and kissed me, his hand smoothing my hair. "Of course it was like that for me. I'm sorry if I made you think that last night wasn't . . . well, the best night of my existence. I just . . . I didn't want to think of it that way, not if I'd been hurting you."

I looked into his sincere, golden eyes, and my lips curved up a little. "Really? The best night ever?"

He kissed me again. "Never doubt it, love."

It seemed as if the crisis was past, so I relaxed a little. "What about the meadow?" I asked teasingly, referring to the place where we'd first made love. "I thought you said that was the best."

His lips curved slowly into my favorite crooked smile. "That wasn't at night."

I smiled too, remembering. "No, it wasn't."

Then I looked at him. "Edward, I had bruises then, too, and after the time in my bedroom" - referring to the night when we'd taken advantage of Charlie working late, only to be surprised when he'd come home early; it hadn't been the most satisfying encounter – "and you didn't freak out like this. Well, not about the bruises," I added, recalling that my period had unexpectedly started right after we'd made love in the meadow. Seeing the blood, Edward had been convinced that time, too, that he'd hurt me.

To my dismay, his face turned serious again. "You haven't seen the full extent, Bella. Look." With that he pulled down the sheet covering us.

'Whoa." Patches of blue and purple decorated my entire torso, and even my thighs. I'd had worse, but I had to admit it wasn't often, though I would never say that aloud.

As Edward looked at the unsightly blotches, his expression grew bleak. I knew another round of angst was coming. "This is much worse than the meadow, Bella. You looked almost this bad after James's attack last year," he said through tight lips.

"Oh, please!" I snorted. "You're comparing broken bones, a severed artery, and twelve stitches in my head with a few bruises? These are nothing, Edward. You didn't see me after my gym teacher in Phoenix insisted I play basketball with the class."

He stared at me for a moment, then his eyes got a faraway look in them. "Bella, after you and I made our bargain, before our day in the meadow, I spoke to Carlisle, hoping he could help me. Of course, he warned me that making love with you would be very dangerous for you. He had faith in me, though."

I touched his face. "Of course he did." Carlisle knew Edward even better than I did; knew his strength of character and the beauty of his soul. I wasn't sure where this digression was leading, but I would listen to anything that took that tight, anxious look off his face.

Turning his head, Edward kissed the palm of my hand. "I also asked him what I should expect. I didn't know what it would be like for me . . . what with my being a vampire."

He half-smiled. "Carlisle told me it was a very powerful thing, like nothing else. He told me that physical love was something I should not treat lightly. With our rarely-changing temperaments, strong emotions can alter us in permanent ways. But he said I didn't need to worry about that part – that you had already altered me so completely there wasn't much left to change." This time his smile was wider, more amused.

"I spoke to my brothers too."

My jaw dropped. "You talked to _Emmett_ about _sex?"_ I could just imagine the kind of bawdy, uninhibited conversation that must have been. Actually, I didn't want to imagine it. Even the thought made me cringe.

Edward laughed a little. "And Jasper. They told me it was a very great pleasure – almost as good as drinking human blood." He grew thoughtful. "But I've tasted _your_ blood, and no blood could be more potent than that. . . and there is no comparison. I don't think they were wrong, really. Just that it's different for us. Something more."

"It _is_ more," I said softly. "It's everything."

"Yes." He touched his forehead to mine; his sweet breath made me dizzy. "That was how I felt too, that day in the meadow, and again last night. And then, to lie here, afterward, with you sleeping in my arms, and watch the marks on your body appear and grow larger and more vivid with every hour that passed – marks that I put there. . . ."

He closed his eyes, and a spasm of pain crossed his face. "I began to feel like a monster again."

"Edward – "

He put a finger on my lips, silencing my protest. "You were right, Bella. I didn't see the results of your attempt to play basketball – but I remember the volleyball class . . . and badminton . . . and soccer. I remember those bruises."

He took my face between his hands, his eyes intent. "You say I didn't hurt you last night, and I'm forced to believe you. But I _will_ be more careful from now on; I promise. Because I can't bear for our loving to make you look as though you've been beaten. It shouldn't be that way."

"And I promise to try to help you," I agreed - because I couldn't bear to see that look on his face one moment longer, because didn't want to cause him any more pain – and, to be honest, because I wasn't all that anxious to get any more bruises. As I knew from much experience, they _are_ tender and only looked uglier as they healed.

My stomach chose that moment to growl again, quite loudly. Edward smiled and kissed me. "You're hungry; let's feed you." He was swiftly out of the bed, stirring up a cloud of feathers. Which reminded me.

"So, why did you decide to ruin Esme's pillows?" I asked, sitting up and shaking more down from my hair.

He had already pulled on a pair of loose khaki pants, and he stood by the door, rumpling his hair, dislodging a few feathers of his own. He gave me a wry look. "I don't know that I _decided_ to do anything last night. I'm just glad it was the pillows, since otherwise the entire canopy might have fallen down on our heads."

Instinctively I glanced upward at the metal framework that arched over the bed, supporting the yards and yards of mosquito netting. It wouldn't have hurt _him_, of course.

"Good choice." I slid carefully off the high bed and stretched again, more aware now of the aches and sore spots. I heard him inhale sharply, and walked to the bathroom for a better look.

I stared at my naked body in the full-length mirror behind the door. Yes, I'd definitely had worse, but this was bad enough. My face was fine, thank goodness, except for a faint shadow across one cheekbone and slightly swollen lips. The rest of me . . . I sighed. I looked hideous, and would only look worse tomorrow.

Then I saw my hair, and groaned.

"Bella?" He was right there beside me as soon as I made a sound, looking anxious. "What's wrong?"

"I'll _never_ get all this out of my hair!" I started plucking at the feathers.

"You _would_ be worried about your hair." Shaking his head, he came to stand behind me, pulling out the feathers much more quickly than I could.

I started laughing and had to lean against him. "My head looks like a chicken is nesting in it! How did you keep a straight face?"

"I wasn't really in a mood to find anything funny, earlier," he told me, smiling rather grimly at my reflection. "But I must admit, there is a certain similarity to a bird's nest." He pressed a kiss on my shoulder and resumed plucking.

With the help of his deft fingers, and a vigorous brushing after Edward left to cook breakfast for me, my hair soon looked almost normal again – though I planned on washing it later. When I had dressed in an unfamiliar white cotton dress that concealed the worst of the violet blotches, I padded off barefoot to where the smell of eggs and bacon and cheese was coming from.

Edward stood in front of the stainless steel stove, still delightfully bare-chested, sliding an omelet onto the light blue plate waiting on the counter. The scent of the food overwhelmed me; I felt like I could eat the plate and the frying pan too. My stomach snarled loudly; I couldn't remember ever being this hungry.

"Here." He turned with an amused smile and set the plate on a small tiled table.

I sat in one of the two metal chairs and started wolfing down the hot eggs, barely taking time to chew. They burned my throat, but I didn't care.

He sat down across from me. "I'm not feeding you often enough."

I swallowed and then reminded him, "I was asleep. This is really good, by the way. Impressive for someone who doesn't eat."

"Food Network," he said, flashing the crooked smile I loved.

I was happy to see it, happy that he seemed to be his normal self again. "Where did the eggs come from?"

"I asked the cleaning crew to stock the kitchen. A first, for this place. I'll have to ask them to deal with the feathers when they come." He frowned thoughtfully.

I stopped in mid-bite. "What will they think?"

"Probably that we had wild, hot sex." He grinned as, predictably, I blushed.

I ate everything, though he'd made enough for two people. "Thank you," I told him, and leaned across the tiny table to kiss him.

I honestly had no intention of it going any farther than that, but after the kiss ended we looked at each other for a moment, and then Edward was beside me, pulling me to my feet, and I rose onto my toes to meet his lips. Suddenly we were on fire, lips demanding, hands eager, bodies straining together.

With one swipe of his hand, Edward sent my breakfast plate crashing to the floor, and then lifted me onto the table. I wrapped my legs around him, but he hesitated. "Too flimsy," he whispered hoarsely. "It might break."

"Then find something that won't," I growled, raining kisses on his bare shoulder, my hands twisting in his bronze hair. I nipped at his earlobe with my lips. He groaned, then all at once I was in his arms and we were speeding through the house.

He burst through a door and deposited me on a bed. I only vaguely noticed that it wasn't the white bedroom - this room had blue furnishings and dark walls – before my attention was completely taken by Edward.

During the few seconds it took to get to this room, Edward had somehow regained a measure of control. His kisses were slightly less urgent, his hands gentler, and he was careful not to hold me too tightly.

I tried to keep my promise to help him with his restraint, tried to temper my passion - but it was so hard to hold back when my heart was pounding a mile a minute and I had to remind myself to breathe . . . when all I wanted was to feel his arms crushing me against him . . . when the hard, cool length of his body on mine set every nerve aflame.

Our chances to make love, before the wedding, had been few and far in between, so the soreness took me by surprise. I couldn't help a tiny flinch when he entered me. Instantly he froze, pulling back slightly. "I'm hurting you?"

"It'll be all right," I gasped. "Please, Edward, don't stop." I thrust toward him, trying to take him deeper, but then he rolled onto his back, pulling me with him.

"You control it, Bella," he whispered. "But stop if it's hurting too much. Please."

I hesitated, a little taken aback and, of course, self-conscious. But then he rocked his hips gently, and pleasure speared through the slight soreness. I shivered and began to move with him.

It was . . . different. Not better, necessarily, just different. For one thing, I did have more control, and was able to keep the pace slow, until the discomfort eased. Not that Edward wouldn't have done the same, but he might have insisted that we put it off until evening, to give me more time to heal.

And that would have been a shame. Because the best part of this new position was that I had a much better view of _him_. Not only could I feast my eyes on his glorious perfection, I could run my hands along the planes of his marble chest as we rocked together, trace the line of shadowy hair that ran down to where our bodies joined. . . .

Before, we'd always been pressed close, arms wrapped around each other. And although I'd been able to feel his body tensing, and hear his breath coming faster, now, for the first time, I could _see_ the full effects of our lovemaking.

I could see the shudders rippling through him . . . the flexing of his muscles . . . the change in his skin from white marble to a warmer ivory shade. I watched his eyes first smolder and then blaze with amber fire, and the involuntary tremors pass over his angel's face as he fought to remain in control. And when my own passion finally spiraled to the point of no return, the last sight I had before my eyes reflexively closed was of Edward's hands clawing at the headboard, his eyes squeezed shut as his entire body convulsed beneath mine and his breath escaped with a low, growling sound.

When at length I opened my eyes again, it was like a repeat of that morning, with me sprawled over his chest and his cool fingers tracing along my back.

I was still trying to catch my breath. "Wow," was all I could articulate.

"I concur," he murmured. "That was indeed a wow." He tilted my chin up and kissed me softly, once, twice, three times. As he tucked my head back into his shoulder, I caught a glimpse of the dark teak headboard, with two large chunks gouged out of it.

Edward followed my glance, and smiled. "I'll owe Esme a new headboard. At least these pillows survived."

We cuddled a few minutes more, then I said, drowsily, "I should probably take a shower, wash my hair."

"Would you like to explore the island instead, maybe go snorkeling? You can shower afterward." He tilted his head quizzically.

I considered this. "Sounds good."

"When do you want to leave?" he asked.

" As soon as my legs start working again." I snuggled closer as he laughed.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

END OF CHAPTER


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